


Prick

by SkinSlave



Category: Marilyn Manson (Band), Slipknot (Band)
Genre: Age Difference, Daddy Kink, Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, First Time, Incest, M/M, No Underage Sex, Nude Photos, Step-parents, Verbal Humiliation, everyone is bi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:36:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27440560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkinSlave/pseuds/SkinSlave
Summary: Jim just wants to play guitar, but his stepdad is determined to be a huge dick.TW: Jim circa 1993, Manson circa 2018, dubious consent, stepfather/stepson incest, age gap, a toolbox.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 26





	Prick

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Lost Art Of Keeping a Secret](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27332665) by [dysphorie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dysphorie/pseuds/dysphorie). 



"Hey!" he shouted. "Kid!"

The young man groaned in exasperation. He set the guitar he'd been tuning down on his bed and resisted the urge to stomp into the hall. The door to the garage was open. A pair of legs stuck out from under his mom's Acura.

"Jim," he said forcefully. "It's 'Jim,' not 'kid.' I'm an adult, ya know."

"Uh huh, that's why you're still living here. Gimme that wrench."

Dirty fingers pointed impatiently. Jim's gut boiled, but he didn't want to start trouble. He handed the tool over and turned to leave.

"Hey," came the voice again. "Saw the small toolbox was moved. Thought I told you to leave it alone."

"Wasn't me."

The scrape of metal on metal stopped and the wheels of the creeper squeaked. Brian hauled himself up and spat on the concrete floor. His black hair was matted to his forehead with sweat. He wiped at it with his yellowed tank top.

"The hell it wasn't. You think Kathy came in here and fucked with it?"

"Whatever, man," Jim muttered.

He turned away. Brian's hand landed on his shoulder but he shrugged it off. The asshole wanted to pick a fight, but that didn't mean he had to take the bait. He closed the door behind him, muffling the bitter voice on the other side.

"Keep your dick-beaters off my shit, kid!"

He couldn't get back to his room fast enough. Brian had always been a bastard, but it only got worse when he moved in. Mom had been working a lot and they didn't get a real honeymoon. Maybe he just needed to get laid.

"Gross," he hissed, grabbing his guitar again.

He needed to stop thinking about Mom's love life and start thinking about the tour. Well… it was technically a tour. They were gonna hit a string of clubs and come home. Not much, but something. A start. Not that it would matter to Mom, and certainly not to Brian.

"Where the fuck does he get off, anyway?" The strings hummed in support. "He's such a prick... I didn't even touch his stupid…"

The toolbox. He thought about it all through dinner - reheated salisbury steak because Mom had picked up a double. What was in it? No way it was just screwdrivers. Money? Drugs? For all the ball-busting he got over it, he deserved to know.

It was red with a domed lid and a big lock on the front. Listening for movement in the house, Jim searched for something to cut it off. Pliers wouldn't do the job, but there weren't any wire cutters. Maybe he could use pliers to hold it in place and a wrench to lever it open.

Carefully, he moved the box to the floor so he could put one foot on it and hold it still. As he stood back up, something caught the cool moonlight from the garage window. The key had been under the box. Jim wasn't sure who was the bigger idiot… Brian for using a worthless hiding place, or himself for not checking sooner.

The lock came off with a grating noise. He waited, listened, but he hadn't woken anyone up. He opened the lid slowly, just in case. The top tray held a handful of rusted bolts and washers. Junk. He pulled the tray up and out of the way.

The main compartment was a jumble of envelopes. The first one had a photocopy of Brian's driver's license and a few boring papers. Others were a bunch of worn pictures torn out of Hustler, Velvet and Sports Illustrated.

Jim rolled his eyes at how stereotypical it was. But that didn't keep him from looking. Brian definitely had a type: round ass, full lips, and long hair. It was hard to argue with his taste. For a few minutes, he forgot where the porn had come from.

That is, until he reached an envelope of polaroids. The first one on the stack was too high-contrast to make out. Jim held it up to the light. The right side of the frame was Brian, in shadow, looking down his nose at the camera with an arrogant smirk. The entire left half was his cock. It was overexposure, he knew, and forced perspective, but… 

It looked enormous. He stared for too long. Jim wasn't small by any means, but he felt a pang of inadequacy. It fell through his stomach and into his pants. It was uncomfortable and warm and confusing.

He flipped to the next picture to get away from the looming shape. It didn't help. Photo after photo proved that it wasn't all a trick of the camera. There were shots of it in his hand, oozing over his knuckles, a few with anonymous mouths wrapped around the head.

Just before he reached the end, a shrill beep sounded inside the house. He raced to stuff everything back in the envelope, but the middle of the stack fell out. Jim scrambled, feeling along the floor, gathering them up. 

The envelopes went into the box. The lock went into the hasp. The key went back on the shelf with the box on top. He tried to make for the door, but his foot slipped on a missed photo. Heart pounding, he stuffed it into his pocket and ran inside.

"Hey, kid!"

Brian's voice was gravelly from sleep. He followed it into the hall. The tattoos draped over his arms and torso dragged Jim's eyes across and down. There was a slight bulge in the blue plaid boxers. His cheeks were hot.

"Slinkin' around the house… One of these days I'm gonna think you're a burglar and take your damn head off." His eyes adjusted and he cocked an eyebrow. "Headed to bed? Wear yourself out bein' a punk all night?"

"No, I'm… getting up…" Jim mumbled to the carpet.

Brian snorted a laugh and headed for the kitchen.

"That'll be the day."

Jim stood, rooted to the floor, willing his legs to take him to his room. The smell of coffee filled the hallway. The bathroom door closed. The sound jarred him into action and he ducked into his bedroom to hide.

"Stupid," he whispered to himself, leaning against the door. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

He was almost caught, and he wasn't out of the woods yet. Did he put everything back, or did he just think he did? What if Brian noticed when he left for work? Jim was  _ not _ prepared to have that conversion. 

_ Sure, I moved the toolbox. I had to put it on the floor so I could break into it and look at pictures of your dick. Congrats on being hung like a Shetland pony. _

He groaned and flopped on the bed. His jeans must've twisted when he landed because they felt tight. He tried to adjust them and rediscovered the polaroid that had been jammed into his pocket without thought. The situation just got worse and worse.

_ Oh, by the way, I freaked out and accidentally kept a souvenir. You want it back? _

It was a particularly clear photo, taken by a timer or a lover from a few feet away. Brian's mouth was tight and his eyes were hungry. He was standing, leaning back against a wall, jerking off. His cock more than filled his hand, despite the discrete silhouette in his shorts. He was a grower.

If he'd had any sense at all, Jim would've tossed it into a drawer to be put back after Brian left for work. So, of course, he laid out on his bed and stared at it. When the car revved up and pulled away, he tucked it under his pillow.

Between practicing on his guitar and reminding himself that he liked tits, he got a few short naps in. He was combing the rat's nest out of his bleached hair when the car rumbled back into the garage.

Brian knocked to remind him to eat. He said he wasn't hungry through the door. The tv came on for a while. Then the house went quiet. He waited a few more minutes, just to be sure. He needed a sandwich or something, and to put the picture back so the whole thing could be over.

He walked slowly past the other bedroom, not daring to look in. The kitchen, at the end of the hall, was lit. The streetlight outside the living room window drizzled in and tinted everything yellow. It was familiar and comforting.

He opened the fridge and grabbed a jar of pickles. He almost dropped it when he heard a voice.

"Not hungry, huh?"

Jim squinted into the living room. A dark shape moved. The lamp next to the recliner switched on.

"Brian? What… Why are you sitting in the dark?"

"Waiting."

"For what?"

"The same thing I've  _ been _ waiting for." Brian cocked his head and drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. "Wondered how long I was gonna have to play mean ol' daddy before you took the bait."

Jim gaped at him. The tumblers started to click into place. He didn't find the pictures. They were left for him. Brian lit a cigarette.

"The one you kept… you whack off to it yet?" he asked.

"No."

"Holding out for the real thing, then."

"What? No! I…" Jim looked around. Somehow he'd walked into the living room. His heart was pounding in his ears. "I'm not gay."

Brian pursed his lips and nodded as though thinking it over. He stood up and crossed the few feet between them. He was a little shorter than Jim, but he seemed so imposing. He laid a hand on the young man's shoulder.

"It's ok, James. Your mother and I love you, no matter what."

If his tone of fake concern hadn't set Jim's stomach writhing, the hug that followed would have. Brian steamed sweat and tobacco and motor oil into his face. A hand snaked down to grope at his ass. A throaty hum of satisfaction vibrated against Jim's neck.

"I can feel your dick, kid. I've seen you shake this bubble butt on stage. Bet you never thought of my hands on it. You want it now though, don't you?"

Jim let his head fall back. It was too much, too fast. He couldn't think past the moment.

"Uh huh… yeah…"

"Good boy."

Brian mouthed at his neck. The contrast of wet tongue and stubble made Jim's knees weak. He gasped at a sharp tug on his hair and a grinding pressure on his thigh.

"Wanna see it…" What was he saying? "Please, da…"

Thank god he stopped. Even in his bliss-drunk state, he knew better. Once he said it, all dignity would be lost.

"What's that, kid?"

Jim bit his mouth closed. He shook his head. Brian huffed a laugh and let go. He took a few steps back. The nearly-forgotten cigarette returned to his lips.

"Who's in charge here?" he asked curtly, rolling up the sleeves of his old flannel shirt. "Who's putting food in the fridge? Huh? You think you can half-ass this shit? You had your identity crisis in the hall this morning, and it must've been over because  _ you  _ came looking for  _ me. _ "

"I didn't know you were-"

"You think you're cute, playing games? You need a spanking like a little boy? Huh? Or are you gonna man up?"

The room was spinning. Jim whispered, "I can't breathe," holding a shaking hand out to catch him if he fell.

"No, that comes later, sweetheart. _ If  _ you ask nicely. Choose, kid. You wanna kneel down and get a good look, or you wanna fuck off back to your room?"

Jim slowly folded in on himself. The low-pile carpet felt like concrete under his knees. He ground his teeth, indignant and afraid.

Brian cupped a hand behind one ear and leaned in.

"I wanna see it," Jim mumbled to the floor.

"No. Say it like you were gonna." Brian stubbed out the cigarette and stood square in front of him. "You won't get another chance."

"Please, let me see it… daddy…"

"Awww. I bet that hurt like a kick in the nuts," Brian laughed. "Makes me wanna make you say it over and over, 'till you melt… But that wasn't the deal… and the only thing I ain't is a liar."

He flipped his belt out and Jim's heart skipped. His bulge was obvious now, stretching the denim of his jeans. It took a good wiggle to get them down to his upper thighs. He grabbed at it through his underwear before easing it through the fly.

Jim reached for it. Brian's cock. It was a brand of excitement he'd never felt before, like the first time with a woman, but more. He squeezed it and it throbbed.

"Up and down."

He followed the direction, timid strokes. Brian was cut and his hand was dry, so he wasn't doing much. But he was getting used to the idea. The more he did it, the more comfortable he felt.

Brian sighed in relief when Jim spat on his cock. It took three tries to get enough to lube the whole length. He slicked his hand over it, exploring the ridges. Before long, he'd set up a rhythm that had Brian bucking into his hand.

"Look at me."

Jim lifted his face, blue eyes behind blond hair. Brian looked like he had in the photograph, coiled like a spring. He ran his thick fingers through Jim's hair. It caught a little on the calluses.

Jim's lips parted and Brian took full advantage, shoving a thumb into his mouth. It didn't ask for permission. It ran over his teeth, stroked his tongue, hooked his cheek. It was testing his limits.

Blue eyes widened with the realization that  _ that  _ was an option. He could put his mouth on it. He'd had blowjobs before and the girls were enthusiastic. He just needed a moment to steady his nerves.

He didn't get a moment. Brian pried his jaw open and yanked his head and it was in. He tried to pull back. The older man let him, but only enough to clear his airway. He coughed.

"So fuckin' pretty," Brian rasped. "I knew you were hungry. Take some deep breaths, kid. You're gonna need 'em."

Jim panted, drool dripping down his chin. He gripped Brian's jeans in both fists. He had a vague idea of what was coming, and wasn't sure he wanted it. But he was already there. He just had to trust that he'd leave with all his teeth.

When the thrusting started, he was not confident. Brian's cock glanced off of the roof of his mouth and punched him in the back of the throat. He gagged and coughed, then braced for the next stroke.

The face-fuck wasn't particularly rough, but it was overwhelming. Jim couldn't register anything beyond the smell and taste of cock, the wet sounds, the ringing in his ears, his tired jaw.

He forgot to suck.

Brian didn't seem to mind. He was breathing hard, using his mouth in spurts and stops so he wouldn't suffocate. He said something when Jim took one hand off of his thigh and pressed against his own aching dick. It sounded like approval, so he rubbed, needy.

The cock went as deep as it would go and stayed there, grinding against his uvula. Jim panicked. There wasn't room for his tongue. He couldn't open any wider. He retched, tried to squirm away.

"You gonna puke, kid? Gonna pass out? I oughta make you. Fuckin' tease."

Instead, Brian let him go. He fell back, sputtering. The collar of his shirt was soaked and for some reason he thought it was blood. He wiped at it. Spit.

There was plenty on the older man's cock and the sound of him jerking it was obscene. For some reason, Jim leaned forward and looked up. Brian cupped his cheek and thumbed at his bruised lips. It was tender. He didn't just want to get off. He wanted Jim.

Suddenly, he let out a kind of restrained grunt. It sounded like he'd stubbed his toe and was trying not to curse. His cock jumped in his hand. Shot after shot of cum landed on Jim's face, streaking his cheek and chin. The last of it dripped down Brian's hand. He shuddered.

Jim reached up and gathered some on his fingers. He watched it thread and break, curious. He'd touched his own cum thousands of times, while cleaning up. But this was different. This was  _ on him.  _ It felt alien.

"Good boy." 

Brian patted his shoulder. He stood and watched the older man light a cigarette, softening cock dangling from his shorts.

"You should go clean up and do what you gotta do," he said. "I'm gonna get some KY on the way home tomorrow. Put it in the toolbox. If you want it… you know how to get it."

It was hazy and Jim didn't entirely grasp the weight of it, but he nodded. He walked slowly into the kitchen. The pickles were still sitting out. He wasn't really hungry anymore. Brian snapped his fingers at him.

"What do we say?"

Jim looked back, cum sliding down his face, hair in knots, cock still half-hard in his jeans. He felt so small… used… loved.

"Thank you."

Brian's hand raised, cupped again around his ear. He waited. Jim smiled thinly. He was such a prick.

"Thank you, daddy."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Dysphorie for ruining my life so I could ruin everyone else's.
> 
> I know I'm staunchly against cheating and Brian is a married man but listen. Kathy knows and is totally ok with it. If there's one thing Brian ain't, it's a liar. Just go with it.


End file.
